


Two Steps Forward

by nikkithedead



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Gets Divorced, M/M, Pining, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkithedead/pseuds/nikkithedead
Summary: Richie Tozier's life is coming crashing down around him. The successful career he's built as a comedian is in jeopardy, and at 35 years old he's never even been in a proper relationship. He's loved one person his entire life, but it's been years since he's even spoken to Eddie Kaspbrak. Or any of the Losers, for that matter.But when Richie gets a call from Stanley Uris, asking him if he'll be the best man at his wedding, how could Richie refuse? Even if it means returning to Derry, the place he swore he'd never go back to. Suddenly the Losers Club is having a reunion, and after years of running from his past towards an empty future, Richie finally feels like maybe the past was where he was meant to be all along.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things to note, going in to the story. This is an AU where Pennywise does not exist, and Derry is just a normal (albeit still kind of shitty) town. Georgie is alive, and everyone has kept their respective careers (although I have gone with Richie and Eddie's IT chapter 2 careers over their jobs in the book). Also of note, Tom (Beverly's husband) does not exist in this AU because screw that guy. 
> 
> This mostly takes place surrounding Stan and Patty's wedding, and while I am indeed Jewish and have been to Jewish wedding's, honestly I'm not an expert and I've never planned one so if I make a mistake in that regard, I do apologize. 
> 
> No character death.

Richie Tozier had always thought it was funny, the way time changed things. At 13 years old he was sure he was going to live forever. The future was an endless stretch of road before him, a blank canvas with which he could paint anything he wanted, anything he could think of. All the possibilities were set out in front of him, like ripe red apples suspended from a tree. And all he had to do was reach out and pick them. 

At 35 years old, everything was different. The future was still a lengthy stretch of road, but now he’d been driving it enough to know what was at the end. His empty canvas mocked him for the time he’d wasted, and the apples were rotting and falling all around him, leaving their carnage in the grass. Everything had changed, everything was different. 

At 13 he’d had friends, six best friends that he would have died for, if given the proper opportunity. The Losers club; Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom, Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris… and Eddie Kaspbrak. 

Richie had loved them all, but with Eddie it had been different. At the age of 13, Richie had been certain of what it took most people their whole lives to comprehend; that he had found his soul mate. His person. The one he would love forever, until he took his dying breath and moved on to the macroverse. And if it was possible, he would love him there as well. 

Unfortunately, at age 13 Richie was also equally certain that he would die a slow, painful death before he ever admitted any of that outloud. Richie loved Eddie, but that wasn’t a notion he could articulate. It wasn’t something he could put into words, or express anywhere outside of his head. He just wasn’t built for that sort of thing. 

But even if he couldn’t say it, Richie knew it would be true forever. 

At 35 years old, Richie couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to one of the Losers. He’d left Derry at the age of 15, moved across the country by his parents. They’d kept in touch over the years, and had a few reunions, but it had been ages since they’d all been together at once. It was funny to Richie, how things like that changed. 

It was also funny how some things never changed at all. 

* * *

Richie was on the way to meet with his PR team when he got the phone call. He almost hadn’t answered—he’d been getting a lot of phone calls recently and very very few of them had anything positive to say—but when he checked the caller ID he discovered it was one of the few people in the universe he would actually have liked to hear from. 

“Stan the man!” Richie cheered, answering his phone. “How’s it hanging?” 

A chuckle greeted him from the other end of the line. “It’s been good Richie, it’s been really good,” He said. There was a tone in his voice that Richie found hard to pinpoint for a second. A sort of uptick in his words, an easy flow…  _ happy.  _ That was it. Stan was happy, that bastard. “Hey are you alright, I saw online—” 

“So how’s the little woman?” Riche asked, cutting him off. “Miss Patricia Blum, she still putting up with you?”

There was a pause.  _ Oh no please don’t tell me she dumped you, fuck— _

“That’s kind of why I called, Rich,” Stan said. Richie stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk, and holding the phone away from his mouth, swore loudly. Why had he been born with terminal foot-in-mouth disease? 

Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Richie heard Stan say “... so how does that sound?” 

Richie blinked. “Uhh… come again?” 

“If it’s too much to ask, I absolutely understand. You’re busy, I know that I just thought—” 

“Stan, I didn’t hear what you said,” Richie said. “So I have no idea if it’s too much to ask, yeah? Try me again.”

“Oh,” Stan said, laughing awkwardly. “I said that I asked Patty to marry me, Richie,” 

“Holy fuck, and she said yes?” 

“No, she turned me down,” Stan said somberly. “I need you to come over and stop me from shooting myself.” 

Richie said nothing. For a moment, there was dead silence. Then, finally, Stan laughed. Richie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an asshole, Uris.” 

Richie could hear the glee in Stan’s voice. “I want you to be my best man, Richie,” He said. “You’re my oldest friend and despite your obvious and truly debilitating flaws, I love you. Will you do it?”

“Shit—of course, Stan,” Richie said, for a moment genuinely touched. He tried to think of a joke to make, or some way to razz Stan for getting hitched, but goddamn if he didn’t feel like a massive fucking sap. “Of course I will,” 

“That means a lot to me,” Stan said. “We’re getting married back in Derry so—” 

Richie did not hear a word out of Stan’s mouth after that, because the phone had slipped out of his hand and shattered on the pavement. He stared at it, stupidly, for several moments with Stan’s words echoing in his ears. 

_...Getting married back in Derry... _

Fuck.  


* * *

Driving to Derry took forever. Not because it was so far from where Richie had been, but because he kept stopping and turning back. There was that old saying,  _ two steps forward, one step back  _ and that was more or less literally how Richie was making his way back to his hometown. Come to think of it, that was literally how Richie had been living his life. 

Why was he doing this to himself? He had a nice life, even if it was all going to shit. Why leave all that and throw himself back to the depths of the bass-ackwards hole in the ground that had been Derry, Maine? 

But Stanley was getting married, and he wanted Richie to be his best man. So here he was, merging onto the freeway once again, following the directions being given to him from Siri, that would lead him right back into the hell he’d thought he’d escaped. For Stan. 

At least that’s what he told himself. 

_ Two steps forward, one step back.  _

After the initial phone call, he’d got a new phone, and called Stan back. There was a lot of details required in being the best man, and Richie had asked more than once if Stan was  _ sure  _ he wanted Richie for this very important job. But Stan insisted, and they’d hammered out what would be required of him. Richie had fucked up a lot (a lot) in his life but he was determined not to add Stan’s wedding to his list. He did some research (google search for  _ best man responsibilities)  _ and asked Stan about a thousand questions. 

Richie had been to a few weddings before, but none of them had been Jewish weddings, so he wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t make a mistake that would land him, and possibly Stan and Patty, in Jewish Hell (although Stan assured him, there was no concept of Hell in Judaism). 

Throughout the conversations they had, one question, in particular, loomed over him. The Big Question, the scary one he longed to ask but dared not to. 

They were wrapping up another talk on whether or not Richie was throwing him a bachelor party (a repeated hard  _ no _ from Stan the Man, but Richie was doing it anyhow) when he blurted it out, completely unintentionally. 

“So are the others coming?” Richie asked, surprised and horrified to find the words leave his mouth. It sounded so casual too, as if he really didn’t care much either way. 

“Oh, well the official invites just went out yesterday,” Stan replied. “But of course they all got one. Honestly I don’t know if they’ll come, they’re all doing pretty big stuff,” He made a noise that Richie assumed was meant to be a carefree laugh, but it sounded sad. “So who knows if they’ll have the time,” 

“Hey, they’ll  _ make  _ time alright?” Richie said. “I don’t care if Ben’s in the middle of putting up a building with his bare hands, I will hunt him down and bring him to your wedding if it is the last thing I do,” 

“Ben’s an architect, Richie,” Stan said. “I don’t think he builds things with his bare hands.” 

“That is absolutely  _ not the point, _ ” Richie pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously Stan, they’ll be there, I promise.” 

“Well… we’ll see,” Stan said, reluctantly. 

Richie was on the road, speeding down the highway, when his phone rang. “Siri, answer the phone,” He said. 

“Did you want to add the stop  _ Hooters  _ to your current route?” Siri responded. 

“What the fuck, no—” Richie sighed. “Answer the phone! Accept call, accept the call you fucking bitchass machine—” 

“Rich?” Stan’s voice came through his car, obviously confused. “You ok?” 

“Shit, I’m sorry, I was yelling at Siri,” He explained. 

“Is that something you usually do?” Stan asked. 

“Sometimes,” Richie admitted. “When she’s being a bitchass, mostly.” 

“Right, well good luck with that,” Stan said. “So I just heard back and everyone is coming,“ He said. Richie’s heart skipped a beat, or several. “Except Eddie, he RSVP’d no,” 

Richie almost slammed his brakes, but was narrowly able to avoid the impulse. “ _ Why not? _ ” He all but screeched. 

“He sent a note, said he had personal business going on and now wasn’t a good time,” Stan said. “It’s alright, really. He sent a nice gift, so...” 

“A  _ note?  _ A fucking--he sent a note? Personal business?” Richie sputtered. “What the shit?” 

“I admit, it’s upsetting,” Stan went on. “I was really hoping we’d all be back together again, but I understand. Life is hectic, it’s hard to just stop for no reason...” 

Richie fumed, caught up in a mix of his own selfish anger and anger on behalf of Stan. “Stan, your wedding is not  _ no reason, _ ” He said. “It’s important, maybe even more important than that time they cut off your penis at your Bar Mitzvah,” 

“Richie you were there, and you  _ know  _ that’s not what—” 

“Text me his address,” Richie said. 

“Richie, no—” 

“Text me his address Stanley Urine!” Richie shouted. “Do it, and I promise not to ever tell Patty that kids used to call you that,” 

A deep, long-suffering sigh came in reply. “She knows that already, Richie,” He said. 

“Really? And she still wants to marry you?” 

“Go figure,” Stan replied. “Alright, I’m sending his address now. Just… go easy on him, alright? If he really can’t come, it’s fine.” 

“Gotcha, call him names until he agrees to come with me,” Richie. “Alright I’m heading there now, see yeah!” Richie hung up, cutting off Stan’s protests. After a long argument with Siri about whether or not he wanted to call  _ Al’s Pancake World  _ and order a party sized Pad Thai—which Richie did not understand why a place called  _ Al’s Pancake World  _ would offer—he finally convinced her to add Eddie’s address to his route. 

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak lived in a nice, generic suburban neighbourhood in the middle of the most generic town Richie had ever been to. The lawn outside his home was crisp and green, and there was a large, very safe looking vehicle parked out front. Eddie was definitely home, and Richie knew this for certain because that vehicle hadn’t been there when he’d first arrived, over two hours ago. Eddie had, however, come home about thirty minutes in, carrying an arm full of groceries and loudly arguing with someone on the phone. 

Perhaps, Richie thought to himself as he lay back with his seat lowered as far as it would go (in case Eddie looked out his window and saw him) this had been a bad idea. 

Raising his seat back up, Richie peered cautiously out the window and screamed loudly, when there appeared a person staring back at him. 

It was a blonde woman, holding what Richie first mistook to be a very large rat in a pink sweater, but upon a second glance was actually just a very ugly dog. She gestured for him to roll down the window, and he did. 

“What are you doing here, sweetie?” Blonde-Lady-With-Rat-Dog asked. “You’ve been parked here for over an hour, just sitting there,” 

“What are you, a cop?” Richie scoffed. He eyed Eddie’s house, and thought he saw the curtain of the front window move. 

Blonde-Lady did not appreciate this. “ _ No, _ ” She said, drawing out the word as if it had several syllables. “I’m head of the neighbourhood watch,”

Richie chuckled. “Ooh, watch out,” He said, waving his hands. “Kids on skateboards beware!” 

Blonde-Lady shifted her rat to another arm. “Sir, if you don’t vacate this neighbourhood I will be forced to call the police. You’re making Mr. Kaspbrak uncomfortable and edgy, and the poor dear really doesn’t need that right now,” 

“Eddie?” Richie asked, heart lurching. “Eddie called you?”  _ Fuck shit, he knew he was here.  _

Blonde-Lady nodded. “Mmhmm,” she said. “And I assure you, he will not protest against the authorities being called.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Richie said, trying to smooth things over. “I’m an old friend of Eddie’s, I’m here to see him.” 

A blonde eyebrow arched high into her fringe. “Then why have you been sitting out here for the last hour? Why not go  _ talk  _ to him, if you’re such good friends.” 

Richie tried to think of a plausible reason for his behaviour. He stared at the blonde lady, and she stared back at him. The dog stared as well, but Richie tried not to look at it. 

“I thought so,” She said. 

“Look, I swear to you we’re friends,” Richie insisted. 

“Alright,” She said, stepping away from his car. “Prove it. Get out of your car, march up to the door and let’s have a reunion.”

Richie hesitated. He could just start the car and drive away, tell Stan he was sorry and he tried but Eddie wouldn’t budge. The man was stubborn, and that was out of Richie’s hands. 

Richie got out of the car. Blonde-Lady followed him as he went up to Eddie’s door, and raised a hand to knock. The door swung open before he had a chance, confirming his suspicion that Eddie had indeed been watching all of this transpire. 

How long had it been since he’d seen Eddie Kaspbrak? Over five years at least. Eddie had stopped by a show of his, when he’d just been gaining notice. Stan had come as well, and brought his new girlfriend Patty with him. After the show, they’d gone out for drinks, and Patty had ordered some fruity pink girly drink with a little umbrella in it. As a joke, Richie had asked for the same thing, teasing her. Except when the drink arrived, it had actually been really fucking delicious and Richie had wound up getting four more, and ended up drunk out his mind. Everything was sort of a blur after that. 

That had been one of the last times he’d spoken to Eddie, and Richie wished he could remember more about it.

But now Eddie was in front of him once more, yanking open the door and shouting at him. 

“The fuck do you want, asshole?” 

Eddie stopped, and looked at him. He blinked. “Richie?” 

“Do you know this man?” Blonde-Lady asked. 

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, we’re old friends, Bethany,” He said. 

Blonde-Lady—Bethany, apparently—glowered and Richie shot her a winning smile. Eddie looked him up and down, frowning. “The hell have you been loitering outside my house for the last hour-and-a-half for?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah,  _ Richie, _ ” Bethany said, jutting out her hip. 

“Well, Bethany,” Richie retorted. “I wasn’t sure if this was actually Eddie’s house, until you so politely confirmed it for me, so thank you,” 

“Well,” Bethany said, turning to Eddie. “If that’s all, I’ll speak with you later then,” She cast a side glance at Richie. “Afternoon,” She walked off. 

“Pleasure meeting you!” Richie called after her, waving. Bethany did not look back. “Well, she’s just lovely,” He said, turning to Eddie. 

“What are you  _ doing  _ here, Richie?” Eddie asked, still standing in his doorway. Richie was beginning to think he was not, in fact, going to be invited in. 

“Uh, I’m here to murder you,” Richie said, delivering the line with a lot more awkwardness than intended. Eddie continued to stare at him. “I’m here for Stan, dude. He’s getting married, which is insane.” 

“I already RSVP’d that I couldn’t make it,” Eddie said. “I don’t understand why he would send you, this just isn’t a good time.” 

“Well why not?” Richie demanded. “What the hell is going on in your life that’s so damn important you can’t leave it behind for a week to watch someone actually agree to spend their  _ entire lives  _ with Stanely Uris!”

Eddie looked around, frowning. “Hey, keep your voice down, there’s a noise restriction on this neighbourhood—” 

“Fuck your noise restriction!” Richie bellowed. “Fuck the neighbourhood watch, fuck your front lawn and fuck whatever bullshit reason you have for letting your friend down—” 

“I’m in the middle of a divorce, asshole!” Eddie shouted, face turning red. 

Richie frowned. “You got married?”

But Eddie didn’t hear him. He was looking around the street, panicked. Richie noticed that three houses down, a man with a bald head had come outside and was staring at them with his hands on his hips. “Sorry, Mr. Whitman!” Eddie called. “Just a… a small disagreement….” 

Mr. Whitman, shaking his head, returned to his house. 

Eddie glared at Richie. “Get in here,” He muttered, finally stepping back and allowing Richie to enter his home. 


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that struck Richie as he walked inside was the mess. Eddie had always been a neat and orderly person (not as neat and orderly as Stan but then few people were) but the house Richie walked into was a pigsty. There were boxes everywhere, and things strewn across the floor. A picture frame was shattered on the carpet, lying on a bed of broken glass. It looked like a bomb had exploded, only it was a bomb made of clothing and knick-knacks and the debris was scattered everywhere. 

Eddie was muttering something about not having time to clean, hastily picking up random items here and there, and adding them to other piles as if that made it look cleaner. 

Richie looked around and took in the absolute junkyard that was Eddie’s living room. “You have a lovely home,” Richie observed.

Eddie glared at him some more and stopped his useless attempt at tidying. “Yeah, well I have a lot going on right now, so fucking shoot me, alright?” He snapped. 

Richie raised his hands. “Hey, no judgement. You should see my place, it’s—” He chuckled. “Well, alright it’s not bad as this, but still,” 

“Richie,  _ what the fuck are you doing here? _ ” Eddie asked again. “I can’t come to the wedding, I already told Stan that,” 

“Right, ‘cause you’re getting a divorce,” Richie said. “Which is  _ weird  _ because I didn’t even know you got married...” 

“It was a small wedding, just her family,” Eddie mumbled, moving aside a pile of junk to sit down on the couch. “She left me, Richie,” Eddie put his face in his hands. “She just… left,”

“Oh,” Richie said, shifting from one foot to the other. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “That’s, um, shitty.”

“I know how shitty it is!” Eddie snapped, looking back up at Richie. His eyes were red, and Richie was caught between two impulses. The first was to move to Eddie’s side, and comfort him. He hated to see Eddie so sad and broken, it was like a physical pain in his chest. 

The second impulse was to run, because if he was being perfectly honest, that was what Richie did when shit got real. 

“Did… did she say like,  _ why? _ ” Richie asked. 

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, bunch of  _ bullshit, _ ” He muttered. “Something about how I don’t  _ really  _ love her, and I’m just afraid of being alone and, what we had wasn’t  _ healthy  _ or whatever...” He shook his head. “She went to some self-help workshop a few months ago and I think it really messed her up.” 

To Richie those sounded like perfectly healthy reasons to end a relationship with someone, although to be fair he never had been married, or dated anyone for longer than… one night. 

“I’m sorry,” Richie said, because it seemed like the kind of thing you should say in a moment like this. 

Eddie nodded. “So you get why I can’t come to the wedding, right?” 

“Uh… no, actually,” Richie said. “I mean, you’re not going to court this minute, are you? Or meeting with lawyers or whatever the hell getting a divorce is,"

“ _ No,  _ we have an appointment with our lawyers set for next month, they’re just drafting the papers now...” Eddie said. 

“Ok so you  _ could _ come to the wedding, you’re just being a little bitch,” 

Eddie looked up at him. “The fuck did you just call me?” He asked. 

“A little bitch,” Richie repeated. “Why don’t you want to come, really?” 

“Because I am getting a divorce,” Eddie said, very slowly as if he were talking to someone very stupid. “My marriage is falling apart, I can’t just… just leave and go watch Stan get married!” 

“No, your marriage  _ fell  _ apart,” Richie corrected. Eddie’s eye twitched. “So now you’ve got nothing going on. So call into work, tell them you need time off and then get your ass into the car and come with me to Derry.” 

“Fuck you, I won’t do it,” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t make me,”

* * *

Three hours later Richie was on the freeway once again, this time with a very surly Eddie Kaspbrak in his passenger seat. It had taken them so long to get on the road once more because Eddie had taken not only the entirety of his earthly possessions with him, but also enough drugs to fill a pharmacy. Not a small pharmacy, either. A Costco pharmacy. 

“You’re driving too slowly,” Eddie said, staring out the window. “You have to speed up,” 

“I’m going the speed limit,” Richie said. “I thought you’d like that.” 

Eddie shook his head. “You have to go with the flow of traffic, too fast or too slow and statistically the chances of getting into a collision are increased,” he said. 

“Alright,” Richie said, pressing down on the gas and speeding up. “Better?” 

Eddie was silent, so Richie took that as a _ yes.  _

They drove in silence for a bit. Richie glanced at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie was chewing on the pad of his thumb, as if lost in thought. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Richie asked. 

“How my childhood best friend fucking kidnapped me,” Eddie replied. “I hate weddings, you know. I didn’t even like my own. There are too many strangers and small talk, and some annoying fucking DJ trying to get you to do a group dance...” 

“Nah, Stan’s will be different,” Richie assured him. “I mean, he’s Jewish so the ceremony will all be in Hebrew, for one. And you know he gets to walk down the aisle, too? Yeah, not just the bride. And he’ll break a glass, as part of the ceremony, except Stan said it will probably be a light bulb because those break easier.” 

Eddie was staring at him. “Why do you know all this?” 

“‘Cause I’m the best man,” Richie said, surprised. “I thought you knew that.” 

“I didn’t,” Eddie said. “Why you?” 

Richie shrugged. “My best guess is he failed to make adult friends,” He said. Eddie nodded. 

“Do you get one of those like, little hat things Stan always wore?” Eddie asked. 

“It’s called a Kippah, Eddie, and yeah I think all the guys will get one,” 

“Right, Kippah,” Eddie mumbled. “I remember Stan telling me that once or twice,” He paused. “So the ceremony will be in Hebrew and he’ll step on a glass that’s really a lightbulb,” Eddie went on. “Can you promise it won’t  _ also  _ involve small talk and a terrible DJ trying to force everyone to  _ Cha Cha Slide? _ ” 

Richie chewed his lip. “Well, he’s getting a live band so the DJ thing is out… but honestly, it’s probably a  _ yes  _ for the small talk,” He said with a shrug. “That’s kind of part and parcel with social events, Eds.” 

Eddie glowered. “Don’t call me Eds, Richie,” He snapped. “You know I hate that,” 

“Still?” 

“Yeah,  _ still. _ ” He said, looking out the window. Eddie shook his head. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, I mean what if Myra calls, and wants to talk and I’m just  _ gone—”  _

“And Myra is…?” 

“My wife, obviously!” Eddie snapped. 

Richie shook his head. “Ex-wife,” he corrected. “You should probably make that adjustment sooner rather than later,” he said. Eddie glared at him. “Besides, she doesn’t have your cell number? If she wants to, she can reach you.”

Eddie mumbled something Richie couldn’t discern. “So, Myra...” Richie said. “What’s she like?” Even as the words left his mouth, Richie couldn’t have said why’d he asked. This was the woman Eddie had  _ married,  _ and more than likely had sex with at least once or twice. Did he really want to hear about her? No, no he did not. 

Fortunately for Richie, Eddie seemed uncertain about how to answer. “She’s… you know, she’s great,” Eddie said, in what was possibly the least convincing tone ever used by anyone. “She worries about me a lot and she always reminds me to take my medication on time,” He gave a hollow chuckle. “Not that I  _ need  _ a reminder, I mean I’ve got alarms set up on my phone, but it’s the thought, right?” Eddie paused. “She cared about me,” He said softly. “She could never stand to be apart, even when I was at work all day… it was nice, having someone missing me. Having someone expect me home...” 

Richie stared out at the road stretching before him and considered how to tactfully approach his next thought. “So, like your Mom?” 

Though he kept his eyes on the road, Richie could feel Eddie’s glare boring into the side of his face.  _ If looks could kill…  _

“No, dipshit,  _ not  _ like my Mom,” Eddie snapped. “Myra’s completely different than my Mom was, alright? Mom was controlling, and-and needy and she just spent all day waiting for me to come home so she could have me all to herself… and…” Eddie trailed off, likely sensing he wasn’t making a great case. He was quiet for a moment. “Mom never would have left me,” He said finally. 

Richie nodded slowly. “So what you’re saying here is that the problem,” He said. “Is that Myra was in fact  _ not enough  _ like your Mom?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing. Richie supposed that he wasn’t the only one living their life two steps forward, one step back. 

* * *

It was late in the night when they finally arrived in Derry. The trip had taken several hours longer than it should, due to Eddie’s insistence on making frequent stops for bathroom breaks. They’d argued about it for a while at first, with Eddie  _ insisting  _ that he couldn’t hold his bladder for long periods of time without risking a UTI. Richie, while not a medical expert by any means, was reasonably sure that it was  _ pretty rare  _ for men to get UTI’s, but there was really no arguing with Eddie on such matters. 

So they wound up stopping at a McDonalds, two Cracker Barrels and a small diner in the middle of nowhere simply called “Luke’s” wherein the owner (presumably, Luke) not only insisted they purchase something substantial if Eddie wanted to use the bathroom, but also forced Richie to go outside when he tried to check Twitter on his phone. 

So it was after far too many hours in the car, tired and cranky, that Richie and Eddie finally pulled up to the inn where Stan had rented a block of rooms for his guests to stay in. Eddie hauled his suitcase out of the back of Richie’s car, and Richie grabbed the duffle bag he’d brought. 

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” Eddie asked, as Richie pulled open the door of the inn so that Eddie could wheel in his massive suitcase. 

“Got it all right here,” Richie said, raising the duffle bag. “Clothes, toothpaste, the whole shebang.”

Eddie stared between Richie and his bag. “You put a suit in there? Won’t it be all wrinkled?” 

“Uh...” Richie squinted, looking at his bag. “Yeah, probably.”

Shaking his head, Eddie pulled his suitcase further inside. “Whatever, I brought a clothing steamer so you’ll just have to use that...” 

Off to the side, there was a front desk with a bell on it. Next to the bell was a small sign saying “Back in Five Minutes.” Eddie set his suitcase down in front of the desk, and tapped on the bell a few times. When this yielded no results, he tapped more insistently. 

“Sign says they’ll be back in five minutes,” Richie pointed out. 

Eddie rolled his eyes in response. “Yeah, do you know how many employees just leave those cards out all the time, so they can go get high in the backroom without being bothered?” Eddie snorted. “Unbelievable.”

Pulling out his phone, Richie sent a text to Stan, hoping that in lieu of a hotel employee, he might be able to tell them where their rooms were. 

“Richie, Eddie, you’re here!” 

Richie jumped as Stan appeared at the top of the staircase, calling their names. 

“Shit that was fast,” Richie said. “I texted you like, a second ago.”

“You texted me?” Stan asked. “I came down to see who was making all that noise,”

Richie turned and looked at Eddie, whose hand was still hovering over the bell, poised to ring it once more. He took his hand back quickly and glanced away. “Don’t know, they uh, must’ve just left,” He said with a shrug. 

Stan smiled, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you came!” He said, going over to pull Eddie into a hug. “He didn’t force you, did he? I told him not to force you,”

Over Stan’s shoulder, Eddie made eye-contact with Richie and glared. Richie shook his head quickly, silently trying to communicate to Eddie that he should definitely lie. “Nah, I just took a look at my schedule and found a way to rearrange some things,” He said, quite convincingly. “All Richie did was remind me how important this is,” 

They pulled apart, and Stan looked suspiciously between the two of them. “Richie reminded you how important this was?” He said, sounding dubious. 

“Well, I mean he was still  _ Richie  _ about it,” Eddie said, chuckling. “There were a lot of off-colour jokes and bad impressions of you, of course,” He smirked, and Richie glared. “But he got the point across, so here I am,”

Richie glared. A moment ago he had felt grateful to Eddie, for covering for him, but that was quickly dissipating. 

Fortunately, Stan seemed to buy this. “That’s amazing, Eddie, I’m really happy,” Stan said, beaming. “The whole gang’s back together again!” 

“Is everyone else here already?” Richie asked. 

Stan shook his head. “Ben and Bev got in this morning, around the same time...” Stan said. “Mike’s flying in from Florida tomorrow, Bill just wrapped a movie last week so he’s flying in too, with his girlfriend Audra… they’re getting in tomorrow evening, I think they’re coming from New Zealand,” 

Richie whistled. “ _New Zealand?_ ” He said, in his best Kiwi accent. “ _Think they ran into any Hobbits_?”

Stan stared blankly back at him, obviously unimpressed. Eddie, however, looked surprised. “That actually wasn’t bad,” He admitted. “The accent. It sounded pretty good,” 

“Why do you sound surprised?” Richie asked. “My accents have always been good,” 

Eddie and Stan exchanged looks, and then burst out laughing. Stan put a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the noise and Eddie wiped away a tear, which Richie personally thought was going a bit overboard. 

“Alright, uh, fuck you both, I’m going to bed,” Richie said, grabbing his bag. He headed towards the stairs, before realizing he had no idea where his room was, or any way to get in it. He turned back around. “Stanley where am I sleeping?” 

Stan calmed down, and went behind the front desk and grabbed a key. “Room 13,” He said, handing the key to Richie. Richie took it, and looked at it. It was an actual key, not the usual kind of key card you’d get at any hotel made this century. Fucking Derry. “Eddie you’re in room 14,” 

Eddie took the key from Stan, also looking down at it with a frown. “This place is up to code, right?” He asked. “I mean, it’s been inspected recently and is free from mould, termites, bed bugs, asbestos… the elevators all are in working condition, the plumbing has been converted…?”

“Well, there’s no elevator, but there are only two floors so that’s not really a problem,” Stan said. “The rest is all fine, I went over all of that with the managers before we booked. Everything is clean and in perfect working order.” 

Eddie squinted and seemed to be trying to decide if he believed that. Richie did, because if there was anyone more anal retentive than Eddie, it was Stanley Uris. “No elevators,” Eddie said slowly. “Not very wheelchair accessible, hmm?” 

Stan blinked. “There’s a room on the ground floor…?”

“ _ One  _ room?” Eddie asked. “What if two separate people in wheelchairs need to stay here?” 

Stan simply shrugged by way of response, and Eddie shook his head and began dragging his massive suitcase over to the stairs, muttering about inclusivity and ableism. He hoisted his suitcase up with relative ease and was up the stairs quickly. At the top, they heard him say goodnight. 

Stan smiled, staring after him. “Same old Eddie,” He said. He looked at Richie. “Thank you for bringing him, Richie,” Stan said. “It means a lot to me that we’ll all be together again,” 

Richie forced a smile, staring up the stairs after Eddie. “No problem,” He said. “Anything for the groom.”


End file.
